Ch.104Work Record #016 – New Recruitment Period (3)

As we headed down to the parking lot, Manager Carmilla was waiting for us. After a brief handshake with CEO Yoon and exchanging some work-related information, we got into the car.

Inside the car, several mercenaries from Vegas were sitting in full-body prosthetics, chatting among themselves. When we entered, they offered casual handshakes and spoke in their characteristically laid-back manner.

“If you want to talk, do it now because we’ll be installing military personality chips soon. Oh, and I hope none of you employees get scared by horror movies. Even we find our movements pretty creepy. Like this.”

The mercenary sitting across from me demonstrated with his prosthetic elbow. Unlike a human arm that could only bend forward from a straight position, his could rotate completely backward.

For military AI chip operations, it made sense not to be constrained by human range of motion limitations. Vola whistled once and began discussing prosthetics with them. They seemed quite surprised.

Vola was mechanical enough that, if he wanted to, he could disguise himself as an unmanned aircraft from Changcheon Robotics. His appearance with the facial armor must have looked like a combat drone to them. Soon, the car departed.

We passed Belwether’s headquarters, the scenery changed, and we approached the headquarters of Fitts & Morrison, where the bustle picked up again. While Belwether’s building featured curved surfaces covered with curtain walls, this one was more traditional.

The square, rigid building might have seemed cliché and dated, but as befitting a major corporation’s headquarters, the surrounding landscape mimicked its design, so it didn’t feel particularly out of place.

Everyone needs something to lean on. They need reference materials when constructing buildings, and they need online forums to vent about trivial problems after work. That’s all there was to it.

The car stopped at the headquarters of Sin City Bitches, connected to that building. Following Carmilla’s guidance, we entered. The interior didn’t look like a mercenary staffing company.

Past the entrance, both sides of the corridor were filled with hologram screens displaying photos. One side showed those who died in the line of duty, while the other showed rescued people who had gone on to find their own lives.

The two sides facing each other seemed fitting. The fallen would feel meaning, and those who left would realize they had been someone else’s purpose to pursue.

Even as we passed through, an employee-citizen with prosthetics painted in human skin color from face to neck—probably down to chest and stomach—was approaching to place their photo on a hologram frame.

After scanning the wall of the fallen, they found a face, hung their own photo opposite it, and left for the parking lot. They smiled into the semi-transparent display before walking down the corridor.

Like Farmers Corp., this place also had its motto written along the ceiling, one sentence at a time as you walked down the corridor:

‘We are not the only ones who have suffered.’

‘We do not represent all who have suffered.’

‘But one thing is certain.’

‘We are the ones who end the vicious cycle.’

They weren’t pioneers, representatives, or saviors. They were simply a mercenary staffing company with expertise in their specific field. If you didn’t try to deny that fact, you were welcome.

We received additional briefing inside the headquarters. The research facility’s internal structure had already been mapped through collaboration with Farmers Corp., and the external surveillance network would be neutralized by drones before we entered.

Belwether had authorized the elimination of all employee-citizens inside. Leaving the city of their own accord to patronize human trafficking brothels run by criminal organizations was sufficient reason for execution.

A general absence of personal morality spreads like a disease. Until now, they had been lucky that the brothel hadn’t caused any trouble, making them believe something unsafe was safe.

About twenty-five people, including night guards, split into three vans heading toward the wasteland. There was a distinctive bumping when we descended from the road into the wasteland. I had my HUD displayed inside my helmet.

The vehicle stopped briefly. A Sin City Bitches mercenary launched an electronic warfare drone—shaped like a small airplane but considerably larger than a standard drone—throwing it with programmed force rather than using a runway.

Two drones took off simultaneously. They weren’t the explosive EMP kind. Since we knew the exact locations of the surveillance network, these were designed to fire pulses that would only disable the detection systems.

CEO Yoon was taking up a sniper position with Sin City Bitches, while Vola and Ms. Eve, who would charge through the entrance and lobby, were currently in another vehicle.

Manager Carmilla approached and patted my shoulder. I was on the infiltration team. I would take the VIP elevator at the rear—originally the research facility’s emergency elevator—directly to the fourth basement level.

“Surveillance network neutralization is proceeding as planned, Santa.”

That was my call sign for this mission. Though arbitrarily assigned by Manager Carmilla, it wasn’t bad enough to prevent me from understanding it, so I chuckled.

“I’m ready to give freedom to the good kids and lead for the bad ones. Shall we go?”

“Let’s go. Field command authority is transferred to Suyeon Yoon, CEO of the mercenary staffing company’s night guard. No explosives inside, and while unavoidable casualties are acceptable, minimize casualties beyond designated targets. Now…”

Manager Carmilla pulled a military AI chip from the chip storage on her wrist. She brought it to the personality adjustment device on the back of her neck. Everyone from Sin City Bitches moved in perfect unison.

“Transmitting personality adjustment device unlock code. The same way they broke us.”

“The same way they broke us!”

That repeated phrase seemed to be the unlock code, as the devices on her neck and those of the Sin City Bitches unlocked. Without any particular order, they inserted their military AI chips and briefly experienced pain.

Then they became eerily quiet. Their movements became closer to those of emotionless combat machines. Did no one consider how such machines could be misused when employed for entertainment purposes?

I mounted a bike unloaded from the combat vehicle. The bike had chains wrapped around its wheels to navigate the almost crystallized, slippery wasteland floor. It was noisy, but that was a minor concern.

The drone’s camera feed appeared at the edge of my vision. Guards in front of the direct elevator to the rear VIP room were receiving communications. They must have noticed the surveillance network was disabled.

As one of them tried to leave his post, I saw a bullet flying before hearing the gunshot. Now there were no guards protecting the VIP elevator.

In this situation, they would normally shut down the VIP elevator and barricade themselves inside, but unfortunately, this building didn’t belong to criminal organizations.

Farmers Corp. had never installed an emergency stop button for the emergency elevator. I reached the elevator on my bike. The armored vehicles were also speeding toward the front of the building. I called the elevator.

A message announced that the elevator would arrive shortly, and I sensed movement inside. To avoid unnecessary damage to the elevator, I drew my high-frequency knife and powered it up.

Two casualties meant they would need to send at least two more reinforcements. Unfortunately, the unnamed criminal organization occupying the building didn’t know this.

Two men in neat but old-fashioned suits, with clearly visible bulletproof vests creating bulky silhouettes, were inside the elevator.

As they tried to draw their guns upon seeing us, one already had his face pierced through the middle by Manager Carmilla’s sharp prosthetic hand, while my high-frequency knife pierced the other’s neck. I pulled the blade to separate it.

This time, I didn’t throw the head into cultivation fluid. It simply rolled onto the contaminated wasteland ground, leaking red fluid rather than blue. I threw the remaining body outside and boarded the elevator.

“I’ve boarded the emergency elevator. The pimp is to be handed over to Sin City Bitches for capture, but everyone else will be eliminated.”

“Good. External security has been dealt with, and all that’s left is to enter. Let’s meet on the second basement level.”

After confirming, I displayed only black on my translucent display. How others saw me no longer mattered much. Everything visible could be classified. Either an enemy or someone to be rescued.

After setting my carbine to fully automatic, I pulled out a pair of bound flash grenades. As soon as the elevator arrived, I heard a voice.

“What’s happening outside? This old building is always—”

I threw the flash grenades. The metallic sound as they bounced on the floor drew everyone’s attention, and a semi-transparent black second eyelid descended beneath my eyelids for anti-flash protection.

The flash grenades exploded, and my second anti-flash eyelid retreated. I stepped into the room full of brothel employees clutching their faces and picked them off one by one with aimed shots.

First to die was an employee looking for his colleague who had gone upstairs, followed by employees dressed in costumes fitting the 19th-century theater concept of the interior, who were still disoriented and staggering when I pulled the trigger.

I came here prepared to be shot too. That’s why I wore bulletproof armor from head to toe. They should have prepared as well. Some of the brothel employees were employee-citizens.

Traitors. If they had been working at a normal workplace, I would have done everything to protect them. The choice was theirs. Now they were facing the consequences.

One security guard, though dazed, managed to locate me and tried to stop me by throwing himself at me. I kicked him away with enhanced strength.

His body, unable to withstand the force, flew backward and crashed into the VIP reception desk right behind him with the sound of breaking bones. I pulled the trigger to confirm the kill. I advanced.

Screams and gunshots filled the air. I reduced my hearing sensitivity. I shot and killed all registered employee-citizens first. From inside one VIP room, I heard a shout.

“I-I’m an employee of a Belwether affiliate! I’m coming out, don’t shoot!”

I stopped Manager Carmilla from firing immediately and said in a flat voice:

“Come out. We will verify your identity.”

Reassured by those words, an office worker emerged. Half-unbuttoned damp shirt, hastily pulled-up formal skirt, flushed body—nothing but disgusting. I turned on my helmet’s air purification function.

After confirming she was indeed an affiliate employee, I pulled the trigger. An affiliate employee should have known better than to set foot here. There seemed to be more people inside.

“They must be here for the purebloods, not us!”

“Why would Belwether do this?! When they advertised this as a legal place, we should have told them to fuck off…”

“Then why call us out instead of just barging in and killing everyone in the room?! Hey, bring them here!”

Two men from the same room slowly emerged with guns pointed at the heads of unregistered pureblood prostitutes, trying to hide behind their bodies. The sight of them resembled ostriches.

Two men and one woman, with three female prostitutes. They must have been having an orgy. It was utterly disgusting. I almost wanted to throw an incendiary grenade.

“W-we don’t know why Belwether cares about these ones, but if you let us go…”

This time I didn’t stop Manager Carmilla. With mechanical precision, bullets pierced the foreheads of the two affiliate employees, and the pureblood prostitutes screamed. Negotiations should have happened before getting in the car.

When they confirmed the prostitutes at this wasteland establishment were unregistered purebloods, they should have negotiated with their own sexual desires. The result should have been, “No thank you, I’ll come another time,” and never returning.

Manager Carmilla removed the chip from the back of her neck and brought the pureblood prostitutes to the elevator. After making them sit with their heads down, she said to me:

“I’ll handle any security personnel coming. You take care of clearing the rooms, Santa.”

“No. You’re better at reassuring the prostitutes, Manager Carmilla. I’ll handle security reinforcements while you clear the rooms and rescue those who need rescuing.”

“Efficient bastard. Understood. Don’t die while handling this.”

She reinserted the partially removed chip and unfolded the sharp end of one of her prosthetic hands that had been folded to appear human. It wasn’t a smoothly vibrating tool like those of the Special Operations Department.

Its performance was inferior to Special Ops equipment. Special Ops could have torn this brothel apart without a single gun or piece of bulletproof armor.

Still, Sin City Bitches were not lacking in capability. Behind me, I heard screams. In front of me, someone was desperately calling for reinforcements.

“Send someone in power loader armor! Some bastards have infiltrated the VIP wing, damn it! They look like Belwether sent Special Ops! Full-body prosthetics!”

Being a pureblood without a computational assist implant, he used a radio. I could hear the response as well.

“Not possible! We’ve sent all security personnel to the lobby! Use the remaining security guards on the fourth floor to handle it somehow! Unless you want to die on Belwether’s cleaning day!”

Things seemed to be progressing steadily upstairs too. After listening to everything, I headed toward the corridor where the voice came from. My enhanced body had good shock absorption capabilities. My footsteps would have been inaudible.

The employee who had been communicating saw my reflection in a piece of a broken mirror wall. To save bullets, I grabbed the back of his head and smashed it down into the floor.

What I grabbed was a human head, but what I lifted back up was not. I threw it away and tried to advance further when my reduced hearing detected footsteps. They were heavy. I heard the sound of a ballistic shield dragging on the floor.

It seemed we weren’t the only ones who knew ballistic shields were effective indoors. I recalled the research facility’s internal structure. There was a security staff passage a bit further ahead. They would be coming through that shortcut.

As expected, after counting “one, two, three,” the security staff passage door opened forcefully. I grabbed the shield from the rushing guard and threw it away. Gunshots rang out.

Shotgun pellets from a following security guard hit me from chest to face, but only scratched the bulletproof plates. My vision remained unaffected. I pushed that body back, knocking down those trying to enter.

I pulled the trigger until the pump of the old-fashioned pump-action shotgun he was holding emptied. I threw the shotgun away. Security personnel had three principles:

One, wear a helmet. Two, wear a helmet. And finally, three, wear a helmet. Wearing just a bulletproof vest under a suit like an old-fashioned bodyguard wasn’t enough to protect yourself.